Innocent Wishes and Reactions
by Louis IX
Summary: [AU, starts before canon] Young Harry suffers from his familial environment, but something will happen, and he’ll be taken away. Some people won’t like it, though, and will presumably react strongly. Other might see that as a sign of redemption. ON HIATUS
1. Troubles

**INNOCENT WISHES AND REACTIONS**

Summary: _AU, starts before canon (again) – Young Harry suffers from his familial environment, but something will happen, and he'll be taken away. Some people won't like it, though, and will presumably react strongly._

_Will be Action/Adventure/Romance... possibly. I'm quite sure it won't be Angst/Drama/Tragedy, though._

_Rating... I don't know yet. Pairings also undecided. Length... unknown yet._

Disclaimer: _I don't own anything you might recognize. It is the short version to say that the Harry Potter universe belongs to its owners, and I'm not one of them. This story is written only for enjoyment; as such, I may own the plot and some non-canon characters and locations, but that's all. I also just realized that many many stories already have the "wish"-like title. This one might cross over their plot or situation, for all I know._

Warnings: _Possible spoilers for the official books. Some facts and characters are taken from them, and sometimes adapted to my needs. Forgive me also for not researching real-life events like I do with The Hunt._

_Reviews are accepted, encouraged, praised, thanked... you got the picture._

**Chapter 1 – Troubles  
**_posted August 7th, 2005_

"It's my fault."

It was convinced of that. Six years of belittling, insults, and other mistreatment had made sure that he'd think like them. He was an ungrateful brat who should be thankful that they offered him a place to stay.

It wasn't their fault that he had now skipped a whole week of meals. Skipping a meal because his relatives felt like it wasn't an uncommon happenstance in his short life, but it had never reached that length before.

It wasn't their fault that his pale and frail body had welts coming from his uncle's belt, dating from the day before.

Some of the teachers at school had remarked his drawn state and a nurse had even alerted the principal once about his scars, but his uncle had visited the man and nothing happened afterwards. Except a thorough beating.

He wasn't allowed to show better grades than his cousin – a difficult task in itself – unless he wanted to skip more meals.

Some of the children in school ignored him. Some pitied him. Some joined his cousin in beating him. He was the outcast. And he had always thought that it was normal.

He stirred in his half-conscious state. The wave of heat of this midsummer 1987 was particularly strong, and he hadn't been given water for a full day. By now, he was in a desperate state, mouth parched by thirst, his hunger keeping him awake and delirious, and unable to get out because of the locks. He had already realized that, if nobody came soon, he would die.

Nobody was home, though, his relatives having taken a day out at the nearest swimming pool. His aunt was certainly sunbathing in a recliner, reading her favourite book for the umpteenth time. Her significant other was probably floating in water nearby, his significant belly allowing him to float. And their son, his cousin, was probably terrorizing little kids in the small pool.

Harry Potter didn't know that, though.

"I..." he croaked. "I wish someone would help me."

**_To be continued in next chapter: Guardianship..._**

_That was a short beginning,  
Not much was said, wasn't it?  
However, there is one thing  
Driving the story, a bit._


	2. Guardianship

Disclaimer: _Check first chapter for full disclaimer and other warnings._

Author's Notes: _Thanks for the reviews. I like to know where I'm heading. Keep it up! (grins)_

**Chapter 2 – Guardianship  
**_posted August 8th, 2005_

Aileen McAllister was a kind and gentle woman in her forties, who had had many troubles in her life. Despite her intelligence and school grades, her father hadn't supported her wishes to leave Ardbeg, on the Scottish island of Islay, and she had helped him until he died. Incidentally, the old man's death and her subsequent departure had been fatal to the trade and the distillery had been mothballed two years afterwards, cutting her main source of income.

Eight years ago, she had married Chandril, a brave man whom she thought faithful and open-minded, giving birth to a couple of daughters soon afterwards. However, she had soon realized that the man's open-mindedness concerned solely the bed he was sleeping in, and they had divorced after two years of chaotic marital life. Moreover, to her utter dismay and despair, the man had managed to keep hold of the two daughters by convincing the judges that his job as a merchant was more stable than her lack thereof.

She hadn't been able to seduce a man afterwards without having second thoughts, either thinking about Chandril's slyness or her own father's tyranny. She had undergone a course in basic healing and had survived with part-time jobs for two years, before finding her current assignment. Since her divorce, though, she had seldom seen her daughters, and her maternal instincts were yearning for a baby to cradle.

Her current job as a school nurse was also dragging all sort of troubles to her. She had seen her lot of tears about grazed skin, torn clothes, or bruised egos. The kids of the local upscale school had quickly sorted her as the type of woman you could get anything from, and had been getting anything from her for three long years before she slammed the door of the principal's office on her way out. The talk she had just had with the man had just been the peak of the discomfort provided by the school.

She has just given him her customary 1-month resignation notice. And, as today was Friday, July 31st, it meant that the man would have less than said month to search for a replacement. Not that she cared, though. The damn school was full of spoiled brats.

Except one.

She had noticed Harry Potter coming and going, helplessly pushed around and, when inspected medically, always shameful of his scars and welts. The school's principal was the only person she could tell about them, but he had always stifled the case, as if he had a personal interest in not pushing it. The topic had come up in the heated talk, and she had learned, by listening to the non-verbal conversation, that it was actually the case. The man was kept silent by the boy's uncle, no doubt the one abusing the kid if the 10.6 inches footprint-shaped welt was of any indication.

Now that she didn't have her job to keep her from doing it, she felt the urge to phone the Children Protection Service as soon as she arrived home.

* * *

**_Three hours afterwards..._**

Hugh and Jessica had worked together for years, and some of their colleagues joked about it, saying that they should be married by now. Despite having shared a romantic relationship years before, the two of them had seen so much disarray in regular families that they had been vaccinated against marriage and children. Being inspectors for the Social Services wasn't an easy job.

When they parked in the empty driveway of number 4, Privet Drive after their scheduled patrol, they found the house closed, nobody seeming to be inside. They returned in their car to wait a few minutes, writing their report at the same time. In the middle of said report, someone honked from the street. A large driver in an expensive car was yelling at them through his half-open window and the car's position indicated that he wanted to park at that place.

"...doing here... private... superior..." was all they could make of his speech. It didn't seem to disturb the man that they couldn't leave with his Sedan in the way.

"Vernon Dursley?" asked Hugh, his stern business-like expression back in place. He had learnt early that people always reacted seriously to this façade, despite being cautious.

It calmed the man a little, though. "Who are you and what are you people doing in my property?" he demanded a little more intelligibly.

"Are you Vernon Dursley?"

The man in front of him went through several tinges of red, until he barked "Yes! Who the hell are you?"

"Hugh Fixier and here is my colleague Jessica Warner. We have been sent here by the Social Service to investigate the living arrangements and state of one..." he looked at his mission sheet, "Harry Potter, your nephew."

Vernon Dursley's face had, once again, passed through several shades, but the ending colour was whiter than his usual reddish pink. He stuttered for a few seconds, until the woman next to him, bending around his massive bulk, spoke through the driver's window.

"He's not here."

"He's not here?" asked Hugh, an eyebrow raised. He had the feeling that the couple wasn't acting normally, and his experience screamed that the case was a valid one.

"No." said the bulky man. "He's gone with his fr-" he stopped dead in his track.

"Friends. His friends." said the woman, certainly his wife although Hugh had the feeling that they weren't of the same species. The man looked like a hippopotamus and she resemble a giraffe.

"Yes, his friends. They left three days ago. Now, get out of my driveway or I'll call the police on you." Vernon Dursley, persuaded to be in his own right, had recovered his usual rudeness.

Hugh smiled, though. A cold, knowing, and efficient smile. He wasn't going to be fooled by their by-play. "As I said earlier, we have been mandated to inspect the state and _living arrangements_ of your nephew. And _we _could call the police if you don't consent to open your door."

He was sure, now. They both blanched. And the whale of a kid behind them – presumably their son, since he looked like Vernon Dursley without the moustache – who had been complaining since the beginning, was now silent.

"Let us in." he articulated. "Now."

Vernon Dursley was defeated, but not annihilated. He had a brief silent discussion with his wife, before turning the car down and extracting himself from it with difficulty. While his wife exited the car too, looking around to see if the neighbours were watching, he opened his door and shoved both inspectors toward the stairs. Despite being in their early forties and as fit as one could be, both of them had no choice but proceed forward as Vernon Dursley's large frame blocked the stairwell.

"You wanted to see his living arrangements, right?" Vernon snarled. "His room is upstairs, first on the left."

They went to said room and found a quite large bedroom, furnished with all kind of games for today's kids, while torn books and action figures decorated a large bookcase. It seemed alright, but Hugh knew the man wasn't honest.

"So, that's your nephew's bedroom?"

"Right. Now leave!"

"And where does your son live?"

"He has his own bedroom, and your mission concerns the brat, not my Duddikins."

As he was speaking, spit unwittingly flying in all directions, Jessica was writing notches on the unfinished report.

Hugh steeled himself from the man's reaction. "As I have the feeling your are lying to me, Mr Dursley, I'm mandated to ask you to show us all rooms in your house. Where does your son sleep?"

"Leave him alone! He's a fragile boy, and you are going to... to..."

Vernon Dursley was becoming frantic, not knowing what to say. His mind reeled, searching for a way out. There weren't many, and he pushed the two of them aside as he rushed out. Fearing a fleeing offence, Hugh and Jessica hurried out too, but Vernon hadn't wanted to flee. Like a cornered bear, he was fighting to the extremes, and had extracted his shotgun from the appropriate shelf of his closet, and was threatening them with it.

"What are you going to do, now, Mr Dursley?" asked Hugh. "Are you going to leave your wife and son to fend for themselves because you pulled the trigger?"

"Give us that rifle." said Jessica soothingly. "Relinquish it and the courts will go easier on you."

"NO! I'm not going to the courts. You'll soon be pushing daisies!"

And Vernon Dursleys condemned himself.

He pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening, and was heard outside too. Several neighbours, who were peeping already, phoned to each other or went outside to get a closer view. Only one of them had the presence of mind to call the police.

When the police arrived, followed by an ambulance, they found the house closed again, and the Dursley's car gone. Each of the neighbours, however, had his own story to tell about the happenstance. As most of them implied a murder by firearm, the policemen opted to force the door open, and they found the crime scene. Hugh and Jessica had almost paid for their dedication with their life. Hugh was sporting a collapsed lung, damaged voice box, and spine damage. Jessica, for her part, had blood seeping from a head wound. The ambulance brought the two unconscious employees to the nearest hospital, where they would slowly recover.

The firearm described by the neighbours wasn't there, and, after launching an arrest warrant for an armed and dangerous Vernon Dursley, the policemen left the house, locking the door with a "crime scene" seal.

After all, the crime scene was self-explanatory, right?

The report Jessica had been filling while Hugh was grilling Vernon, though, had been forgotten in the house.

Soon after the police left, as the neighbours were still in front of the house, discussing things madly, sound of glass breaking resounded in the deserted house's backyard. The door unlocked and softened footsteps could be heard as the masked intruder, obviously female, approached the abandoned crime scene. A delicate hand grasped Jessica's report and eyebrows rose as the visitor parsed it. She then looked around, visiting each room of the house without finding the desired target. As a last resort, she decided to open each and every cupboard. When she opened the lock on the one under the stairs, she was first taken aback by the smell, and thought she had entered a closet of some sort. She found the switch outside

"Oh my god!" she gasped. "What have we gone into?"

Finding the boy brought her motherly feelings en masse, and she decided to help him, alone. She just didn't trust any man. And she didn't know any woman enough to bring one into that secret.

Once safely settled in her apartment, the delirious boy opened his eyes.

"Are you my mum?" he asked.

"No." she whispered, before snuggling his frail body closer. She would have someone to care for, now, despite all that Chandril Patil did to her. The boy then said something which made her heart beat faster.

"I wish you were my mum."

**_To be continued in next chapter: Introductions..._**

_Let's get this story growing.  
I haven't decided yet  
How long or thorough it'll get.  
Next part will see friends meeting._


	3. Introductions

Disclaimer: _Check first chapter for full disclaimer and other warnings._

Author's Notes: _Since I'm in advance in my writing for the Hunt, I allowed my muse to explore a new direction and here is the next instalment of this story. Thanks for your reviews, of course, you know I appreciate them._

**Chapter 3 – Introductions  
**_posted October 25th, 2005_

It took three years for Harry Potter to overcome most of his apprehension when dealing with other human beings. In the meantime, he had moved a few times across the country, following her adoptive mother as she sought a job. When Vernon and Petunia Dursley were finally caught and sentenced, Aileen easily obtained guardianship of the boy, and the compassionate woman had worked hard to rewind Harry's years of hardships.

They were now settled in London, the still-single mother working at the local hospital as Head Nurse and getting a good pay out of it. Little did she know that Harry had once wished that they could settle down. She still had insane shifts sometime, and Harry often came to her workplace after school. The hospital director didn't like it, but a petition from the nurses had made him rethink his initial rejection, so, during these shifts, Harry was mostly left to his own care in the nurses' office – or sleeping in the nearby rest room. It didn't disturb him, though. At these moments, after the regular visiting hours, he also liked to wander through the silent building.

During one of his discreet nightly strolls, he barely escaped the second nurse on duty that night as she hurried out of a bedroom while turning her emergency-related beeper off. Harry's mother had told him about these beepers and he knew that someone would arrive soon, in a pretty bad shape. In the meantime, the bedroom door had been left ajar, and he was going to close it completely when he heard a sniff coming from inside.

He hesitated but, when the sound was repeated, he decided to enter the room. It was small, and dark, as the curtains had been closed to shut the moonlight off.

"Who's there?" asked a small voice.

"I'm Harry." he answered, feeling his way to the bed.

The girl didn't answer for a few seconds, sniffing again – although quieter than before.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She huffed, and whimpered immediately afterwards. "No." she said in a strangled voice. After a calming breath, she spoke again. "The nurse was saying that she would give me something for the pain, but she left when her gadget started to beep."

"Yes, they have them because they must assist for the emergencies." Harry stated, matter-of-factly.

"What about me?"

Harry looked towards the voice. His eyes had started to accustom themselves from the lack of ambient light, and he discerned a girl, around his age, her arm in a fresh cast.

"Where do you hurt?" he asked.

"It's my arm!" she answered. "I never thought it was going to be that painful. And itchy." she added, trying to reach under the cast with her other hand.

"It's because the painkillers are ebbing away." Harry offered, remembering the things nurses discussed between themselves. "You have received them during the surgery, and you are slowly recovering feeling in the arm. Good and bad."

"I wish I wouldn't feel the bad, though." the girl whispered.

Harry waited for a moment, but nothing happened. "I wish I could make the pain go away." he said intently.

The girl looked at him. "What are you going to do? Kiss it like a baby's wound?"

He didn't answer and leaned over her, kissing her shoulder right above the cast. She gasped, and looked at him in wonder. "See?" he asked. "It's all gone."

They stayed silent for a few seconds, until he spoke again, standing up. "I'd better go, now."

That seemed to wake the girl out of her daze, but she didn't react quickly enough. "Wait!" she exclaimed, trying to rise from her lying position, but the boy had already left the room, gently closing the door behind him. "I didn't even thank you..." she trailed off, before slumping back into her bed. She didn't even feel any pain in her broken arm, then.

The following morning, Aileen's shift was finished and she returned home with Harry for a few days. The same morning, the girl grilled the other nurses for another young patient named Harry, but was told repeatedly that no such person existed. She was feeling a bit better, though, and the doctor agreed for her to return home the next day. The following night, the girl kept her eyes open for a long time, hoping that the mysterious boy would appear again.

She hadn't even seen his face properly.

* * *

**_Hogwarts..._**

Dumbledore sat back, stretching his tired limbs. It had been such a long time since he last wrote a large essay, and he just completed something that would enhance again his reputation of loving muggles. He smiled, before standing up and walking to the fireplace. As he was taking some Floo powder from the pot on the mantelpiece, he reflected about what had happened in the last few years.

He had put Harry Potter in the house of child abusers. Like each time he thought about it, he felt disgusted about himself, to the point of sensing acid in the back of his mouth. He knew he should have listened to Minerva, that fateful night. Despite having put Arabella Figg on permanent guard duty, he had had too much confidence in the blood protection that Lily's sacrifice enabled, and hadn't asked the cat-loving member of the Order of the Phoenix to investigate things.

When the shotgun had banged in Little Whinging, Arabella hadn't been there immediately, and they had all thought Harry was dead until Alastor Moody checked with Harry's file. Since then, Arabella had always kept an eye on Harry and his adoptive mother. The Dursleys elders being in prison and their son in a juvenile delinquent detention centre, Dumbledore had little to say about Harry's current living arrangements. Especially now that the woman and her adopted son were happy.

Still, he would apologize properly as soon as he could.

* * *

**_One year later..._**

Harry Potter knew that his birthday was on July 31st. His relatives – about whom he still had the occasional nightmare – had revelled in seeing his distress on that date when they waved food or false presents under his nose before taking everything back.

However, since his adoption, that day had acquired the joyfulness all children deserved from it. For his eleventh birthday, Aileen had taken the day off. She had also rounded Harry's friends from school, for an afternoon party in the garden of their small and cosy house. In the midst of it, she proffered a cake with the appropriate number of candles and asked for him to make a wish before blowing at them. He obeyed, closing his eyes. 'I wish I knew why all I wish for works.' he thought, although it wasn't as heartfelt as some of the wishes he had made until then, and it wasn't said aloud.

Harry had remarked, a few months ago, that when he uttered a wish and put all his conviction behind it, things tended to happen following that wish. It was strange, and he had discreetly prodded his mother and his friends to see if it was normal. He sure hadn't heard, seen, or read anything about it before.

However, his birthday wish seemed to be granted despite his lack of conviction. Just as the last candle fell to his breath, the doorbell rang and her mother, puzzled, introduced someone he had never seen before. Someone dressed like he had never seen before. Except at Halloween. The other kids weren't puzzled, though, and ran to the eccentrically clad man.

"Harry birthday, Harry." the man said, and gave him a present. Harry was too stunned to actually open it, and the man looked at the eager children around him. "What do you want?" he asked, smiling.

"We want a magic trick, Gandalf." a little girl, named Amy, piped in, and he looked at her, startled. "See? I recognized you! I saw your picture from my brother's book."

"What an interesting book it must be." the man said, kneeling to look at her vigorously nodding face intently. "What is the title?"

She frowned. "I don't remember. It was about a ring, though. Did you do it?"

"What?"

"All that my brother say it's in the book?"

"Gandalf" looked around and noticed equally eager looks, although a few seemed jealous at the girl for guessing the man's name. "Maybe." he said, straightening up.

"Do a magic trick!" she then squealed, and the others clapped, cheering him like children do.

The man looked at Harry again. The birthday boy hadn't moved, his still-wrapped gift pressed to his chest. "Do you want me to, Harry?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "After all, it's your birthday."

Harry nodded absently, still trying to understand what was happening.

The man looked around, and noticed the balloons floating around in the little house's garden. He took a stick from his pocket and aimed it at them.

"Abracadabra." he said, and the balloons took the shape of Harry's head, messy hair and all.

There was a second of silence, and peals of laughter erupted in the small garden. "Again, again." the children chanted.

The man turned around, his white hair and beard flowing briefly before falling into place. Harry was sure that, under his moustache, the man was smiling widely. "Abracadabra." he said, and colourful flowers sprouted around the garden.

"Again! Again!" the kids yelled.

"Alright, alright." he answered. "A last time, and I will go."

It was more than what the children expected, and they acquiesced enthusiastically.

The man took something out of his pocket, and aimed his wand at it. "Abracadabra." he said, and the thing in his hand grew from coin-like to a much larger size, until it became a little furry dragon. The children were delighted, but even more so when the dragon flapped his wings and took off, circling the garden before rising in the air... high in the air... higher still... and exploded like a fireworks.

The assembled children looked stunned for a second, before applauding wildly. The man removed his pointy hat and saluted them before retreating inside the house, a still puzzled and now slightly worried Aileen following him.

The children started to resume their games, some of them pausing only to grab a few bites of the birthday cake.

Amy looked at Harry intently. "Harry! You got a present from Gandalf?" she asked. "Open it!"

The others congregated around the two of them to see if the present was as magical as the earlier display. Harry complied wordlessly, and groans came from the other children when they saw what it was.

"A dictionary!" exclaimed Amy dejectedly.

"I'm sure he's not a true magician." one of the boys said.

"Of course he is." she retorted. "Gandalf is the greatest magician of all!"

"He's an actor." the boy answered. "He was paid to come here and perform bizarre things."

"They were magic tricks!" she insisted, but she wasn't so sure anymore. After all, she had seen magic tricks explained at the television, and started to doubt her own conclusions.

"Yeah, whatever." the boy said, approaching from her with a devious look. "Tag!" he suddenly exclaimed, pushing her before taking flight. "You're it."

It was the signal that the childish games could start again. Harry hadn't moved, though. He hadn't even heard or seen the byplay. The book wasn't a dictionary.

It was titled "Muggleborns: an Introduction to the Magical World" and had reportedly been written by a certain Albus Dumbledore. Harry turned the book around, and almost dropped it in shock. Behind books, there often was a picture of the author, and this one followed the rule. Harry was looking straight at the smiling – and moving – face he had witnessed earlier.

And he got his answer.

He abandoned his friends, heading inside the house, and joined the discussion that his adoptive mother was having with Hogwarts' Headmaster.

* * *

**_Three weeks later..._**

Harry had read the entire book. Thrice.

The first time, it had been a discovery, and most of the content had flown way over his head.

The second had been an information gathering mission, and he intended to learn all that was necessary to survive his first days in the school he had just been recruited into. That's when he learnt that there was a shopping mall for wizards. For a short time, he had wondered how he could buy things there, until he remembered the other thing that that Dumbledore fellow had given him after their discussion. The man, his twinkle reduced to a minimum, had given him a folder containing information about his biological parents and grandparents – all dead – and about his fund trust at Gringotts, the magical bank. Afterwards, the man had kneeled and had asked for his forgiveness for placing him with the Dursleys. Harry didn't know what to do, and, despite the shocked look on his mother's face, he had forgiven him.

That second reading also taught him the basic things about social interaction between wizards, as well as History highlights. He was suddenly thankful that the Supreme Mugwump – Dumbledore being the author and broaching Hogwarts as well, he couldn't do without presenting himself, now could he? – had had the wisdom of writing the book, or he would have been completely lost. Speaking of being lost, one of the things the Headmaster had given him was the train ticket – which, incidentally, also served as a key to enter the platform – on which was displayed the map and direction to King's Cross station and to the Hogwarts Express platform. Understanding that they had to pass through a wall, Harry was suddenly happy that he had been warned about it.

The third reading brought more questions, though. In his first two readings, he had found very little about magic theory, and suspected – and knew, thanks to the curriculum displayed in the book – that he would learn about that in school. But there hadn't been a word about magic made with wishes. And what could be another explanation of everything that had happened to him?

Now, he was walking in London with Aileen. Taking advantage of one of her days off, they had explored King's Cross train station to see where he was going to go. The passage was closed, though, and Harry suspected that it wouldn't open until the appropriate moment.

They then headed to the Leaky Cauldron, and entered it, Harry leading Aileen. Once inside, though, the strange customers brought an instinctive reaction from Aileen and _she _led Harry to the counter.

"Diagon Alley, please." she asked the man there.

Tom nodded to the back door but didn't move from his glass-wiping job.

Aileen frowned, and was ready to snap at the man when said man cast a glance at Harry's face. And drop his glass. Not even taking care of that, he walked around his counter, muttering things she couldn't understand.

"Please, Harry, madam, please follow me." he said obsequiously, and led them outside.

As the innkeeper was readying his wand to tap the wall, Aileen stopped him. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "How do you know about Harry?"

He huffed. "Everyone knows about Harry Potter, madam. Everyone knows how he got... _this_." he finished, pointing at Harry's lightning bolt-shaped scar.

"And how exactly did he get it?" she demanded, fists on her hips. Despite being muggle, she was Head Nurse, and had cowed more bastards that she could count.

Tom seemed to recoil from the woman's inquisitive stance. "By defeating... You-Know-Who?" he asked tentatively.

"No, sorry, I don't know who you are talking about." she answered. "Can you tell us more?"

The innkeeper swallowed nervously. "I... can't. You should see what you need at the bookshop." he finished, before turning back to the brick wall and activating the brick sequence. "Good day to you." he said, before returning to his pub.

The two of them walked forward tentatively, until they found out it was a real street with real buildings around them. The only odd things were the people moving around, clad in robes like in the old times, and the stuff showed on the shops' windows.

Thanks to the introductory book, they found their first stop easily, and entered the wizarding bank under the gaze of the goblin guards. After waiting for a few minutes, they were authorized to access the vault established by Harry's parents, and both of them were positively surprised at the sheer amount of coins in there. Harry pocketed several of the golden ones, and they returned to the bank lobby. Once there, Aileen stopped Harry, a frown on her face.

"What?" he asked.

"Will you have to go down there each time you need money?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Why?"

"And if you're old and can't move, there's no way you can access your money. I don't get it."

"What?"

She didn't say anything and returned to the waiting lines. When they arrived to the counter, Aileen explained her question to the Goblin, and he answered that, yes, there were systems allowing people to draw money without entering the building at all. At her insistence, he explained them, even listing options and improvements without being prodded.

The first of them was a never-empty purse linked to the vault. Optional security measures could be taken so that only the owner could draw from it, for instance.

The second was a system much like the muggle checks, where a slip of paper was written with the vault number and was magical signed for authenticity. Contrarily to the purse, it allowed for large purchases.

The third was a charmed plate of metal on which were written the sum as well as the credited and debited vault numbers, and the transfer was done when the plate was signed by both parties. It also allowed for large purchases.

Harry nodded along and, since they both didn't think he would need to make large purchases anytime soon, they took the never-empty purse. With the appropriate options. The two of them then exited the bank and headed to the shop that Dumbledore had recommended next: Ollivander's.

After measuring Harry's arms, the man made him test a few dozen wands before settling on a particular model. While the man was muttering about strangeness of magical cores, Harry moved the wand around and was elated about the wand's result. Ollivander was, too, but his smile failed to warm his eyes completely. When his two customers left his shop after paying the required amount, the old man shook his head, reminiscing too well the last time a particular customer had been hard to satisfy.

Harry and his adoptive mother knew they had to make several purchases today and, still following Dumbledore's advice, they headed to a shop of magical containers. They had to buy a trunk to hold everything and, browsing the numerous items proposed, they understood that there was many ways to add magic to a mere trunk. Harry suspected that a magical schoolbag could have his perks as well.

They finally settled on a regular trunk – after all, Harry was still in first year and didn't need much space – but opted for a black leather bag with many spells on it. It was sturdy, had its inside enlarged enough to hold the trunk itself, and weighted almost the same when empty and when full. After paying for both, Harry put the trunk in his schoolbag and hoisted said bag to his shoulder. It felt strange to have a bag feeling as though it was empty while he knew it contained a large and sturdy wooden trunk.

They then headed for the bookshop.

There were a few students browsing the shelves, shopping for the following year, and Harry observed them as they bantered about magical studies and other esoteric stuff he would find about soon enough.

Aileen watched her "son" look around and she did the same. When she noticed the students' age, she thought back about her own history.

"I wish I could see my daughters again." she whispered.

Harry looked at her with a pointed look. The woman had already told him about her personal history and he understood that, even if he was there, his adoptive mother had still lost her two girls. He looked around, before closing his eyes in concentration. When he spoke, it wasn't loud, but the voice carried an intensity which made the sentence echo around them.

"I wish you could see your daughters soon."

**_To be continued in next chapter: School..._**

_Since you are here, a question:  
How will the next chapter start?  
Am I to include some tart?  
Am I not? That's the question._


End file.
